


So the mess that we'll become leaves something to talk about

by FoxSteel



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Dark Bruce Wayne, Drabble, First Time, Frottage, Hook-Up, M/M, One Night Stands, PWP, Smut, Virgin Oswald Cobblepot, well kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 06:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17861990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxSteel/pseuds/FoxSteel
Summary: Bruce is on his “clubs, alcohol, hookups and being asshole to Alfred” stage (and I consider that he is adult ;) ). This time it's Iceberg Lounge and Penguin is here as well.





	So the mess that we'll become leaves something to talk about

**Author's Note:**

> "So the mess that we'll become  
> Leaves something to talk about"
> 
> Panic! At the Disco - "Casual Affair"

 

 

”Really?” Penguin asks pretty friendly and leans back on his chair. “What gives me away?”

“Mascara and deep-frozen ex”.

Penguin laughs and nods a couple of times, poking the olive in his glass with little drink umbrella.

Bruce put his hand on Penguin’s, and the laughter stops. Penguin jerks, looks at him wary, even a bit scared. Bruce shouldn’t like it, no - but he does. What Bruce feels about it is more than just ‘like’ and by far less innocent.

Bruce caresses Penguin’s wrist, watching his reaction intently, greedily absorbing every tiny emotion showing on his face.

“I’m sure there’s some place here where we can find some privacy”.

“You’re drunk,” Penguin says, his voice shaking a little. “You don’t know what do you actually want and…”.

“I’ve come here,” Bruce interrupts him, “to get drunk and to get laid. That’s what people come to clubs for. It seems to me that you might be interested in such stuff too. Am I wrong?”

Penguin swallows hard and stares at his arm, which Bruce’s still holding.

The outcome of all this is obvious already. Bruce sees it as he could see mate in three moves, watching at the chessboard.

Bruce waits patiently.

Bruce watches Penguin hesitating, and he enjoys every single moment. Heavy breath, dilated pupils, color in his cheeks, goosebumps - Bruce notices it all, and this is amazing, to see the impact of his actions, to feel that power…

Finally, Penguin gives up.

“There are rooms upstairs.”

Bruce stands up and heads to the stairwell door. He leads Penguin by the hand, and he follows him without complaint, as if in a trance, and doesn’t even try to pull his arm away.

Penguin’s fingers are shaking, and he slips twice before he finally puts the key in the lock and opens the room with number 4 on the door.

Bruce shoves him up against the wall the moment they get in.

Bruce pulls his hands up, pins his thin wrists by one palm and licks his mouth greedily and possessively, without giving him any chance to seize the initiative. Penguin gasps softly, and this  sound sends little sparks of arousal through every nerve.

Bruce wants to hear more.

He slides his free hand under Penguin shirt, caresses firm flat stomach, runs his thumb across the round bullet scar - and Penguin flinches with a displeased sound. Bruce bites his lip and strokes the scar again.

“Don’t touch  _ _this__!” Penguin hisses, pulling away abruptly.

Bruce pulls away a bit too, but doesn’t release him and doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just watches, face blank and still. Penguin gets more and more obviously nervous with each passing second, and then he eventually decides to explain himself: “This scar… There are some… extremely unpleasant memories, so… Just - don’t.”

Bruce keeps silence.

Bruce keeps watching.

Bruce waits.

And Penguin breaks down: “You know what? It… It’s nothing. If you really want… Fine.”

Bruce touches the scar once more, only affirming his right to do so, and focuses at Penguin’s neck. Bruce slides his tongue from his collarbone to the ear, nibbles the soft tender skin, alternating between kisses and bites, until he finally gets what he wants - the first muffled moan.

“Nice cologne,” Bruce says in that voice as if at business meeting.

Penguin blinks, confused and embarrassed, and slowly turns to meet his eyes: “Thanks?”

Sometimes Bruce makes people uncomfortable, and Bruce is well aware about it.

Sometimes Bruce does it on purpose.

Because Bruce likes it.

Because he _can_.

Bruce unbuttons Penguin’s vest, then his shirt, staring in his eyes. Bruce can clearly see how each opened button makes Penguin more and more tense, and maybe he shouldn’t like it so much. Maybe it makes him a bad person that he does.

Actually, Bruce doesn’t care.

Visible rib cage, pale hairless chest, thin 'happy trail', small pink nipples and all sorts of scars.

“Gorgeous,” Bruce says softly, openly gazing at him.

Penguin winces and doesn’t answer him.

So that’s it.

“Oswald.”

Penguin jerks as if he didn’t expect to hear his own name, but averts his eyes.

“Oswald, tell me, do I look like a man who will have sex with someone he doesn’t like?”

“You look like a man,” Penguin replies, “who doesn’t care much about with whom to sleep.”

“Well, kinda,” Bruce agrees, tracing his fingers across Penguin’s ribs. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t have any preferences.”

“You have pretty weird preferences, then.”

Bruce grins and lets go of his hands.

Bruce takes off the turtleneck, and Penguin goes completely still, gaze shape and focused now.

Bruce doesn’t get it first, but then he realizes.

 _Scars_.

He has scars too, ones the billionaire boy wasting away his parents’ money definitely shouldn’t have.

Most of people Bruce slept with didn’t ask him any questions. When someone did, Bruce laughed and answered: “Cool bike plus too much whiskey. Totally worthed it!..”

But Penguin won’t buy into this bullshit.

Anyone but him.

On the other hand - why would Bruce explain anything?

“Top or bottom? What do you prefer?” he asks instead.

“I…” Penguin swallows and looks away from Bruce’s scars. “Actually, I… I don’t care. I’m fine with both”.

Bruce nods and pushes him towards the bed.

Everything is exactly how Bruce likes it, exactly what Bruce _needs_.

The most amazing thing is that Penguin doesn’t touch him, though Bruce doesn’t hold his hands down anymore. It’s not like Bruce doesn’t like touches, not exactly. Bruce simply likes to be in control. Partners’ stubborn efforts to take an active part annoy him, but Penguin - Penguin doesn’t even try to do it.

Also, Penguin is incredibly sensitive and responsive, and it’s just… _perfect_.

Penguin hisses as Bruce brushes his lips against his side. He giggles and writhes as Bruce covers his ribs and stomach with tiny wet kisses. He jumps and gasps and whines as Bruce’s tongue circles round his nipple. And it’s perfect, it really is, and Bruce is so damn hard that it hurts.

“Lube?”

“Lu… Aw. Yeah, it… it must be…”

Bruce watches Penguin, blushed, breathless, dishevelled, half-naked, and he’s seriously concerned about the risk to come in his pants.

Penguin lets out a triumphant shout and tosses Bruce a small tube of lubricant. Bruce catches it easily.

He takes off shoes, pants and underwear; Penguin does the same.

“I… Should I… on my stomach or…”

His voice, his face, his body language - everything gives him away. Bruce feels it clearly, how scared Penguin is. Penguin wants _him_ but Penguin doesn’t want what he offers, and hell if Bruce knows why Penguin offers it, than. If only Bruce wasn’t that drunk and that aroused, if only he was able to play a long thoughtful game now, he would take up the challenge - and damn, it would be so great…

Well, maybe Bruce will make an exception for Penguin: it seems that he might be interesting enough for a second time.

Bruce likes this thought.

But now…

Now there’s something that should be done.

Bruce cups Penguin’s face, strokes the cheekbone with his thumb - Penguin closes his eyes and breathes in sharply.

“Oswald.”

“Yes?”

“What do  _ _you__ want?”

“Me?.. I…” Penguin got rattled, his eyes darting nervously. “I’m fine, I don’t, don’t care, I…”

Bruce waits.

Bruce is patient, because Bruce loves to watch.

Penguin is seeking for an escape from this situation, seeking for a way to avoid answering the question, and at some point he just pushes Bruce on the bed. He tries, more preciously - he pushes hard enough, but Bruce doesn’t even move.

Bruce doesn’t say a thing, just watches color on Penguin’s cheeks becoming brighter and brighter.

“Could we… could we just… just do it, without all this blah-blah-blah,  _ _ple-e-ease__?”

There are different ways people react to frustration. It looks like Penguin is the one of those who freak out and throw a tantrum - and it’s amazing how far he managed to get, given that.

Penguin wants to get under his skin? No problem, Bruce can pretend that he did.

“As you wish,” Bruce says coldly.

“I, uh, wait, well, I wanted… I didn’t mean…”

Penguin is stronger than he looks, but he doesn’t expect the attack. One second, and Penguin finds himself lying on the bed, with Bruce sitting on his things and pinning his arms again.

It’s not as hard to open the tube of lubricant with one hand and teeth as to squeeze lubricant out. But Bruce handles it.

“Bruce? Bruce, you are, what, uh, are you gonna…”

There’s a mere panic in Penguin’s gaze. He doesn’t try to fight back, doesn’t try to break free, doesn’t even really complain, and this is… interesting.

For some time Bruce rarely feels interested, especially in bedroom.

“Relax,” he says. “Let me take care of it”.

“What are you gonna…”

Bruce wraps his slick palm around both of their cocks, pressing them together, and Penguin chokes on the air.

“Do you like this?” Bruce asks, as if it is not obvious.

Penguin nods shortly.

No, this won’t do.

Bruce wants more.

He thrusts forward, agonizingly slow, squeezing fingers tight - and that’s it. Penguin whimpers high and loud, and buries his face into the crease of his elbow.

Bruce isn’t happy about it, but both of his hands are busy.

Well, there are other soft spots Bruce can hit, and other ways to feel that power he craves.

“You’re amazing,” breathes out Bruce and leans down to put several tender kisses along his throat. “Those sounds, your voice, damn, Oswald, you’re fucking mind-blowing…”

“Shut up.”

“Beautiful,” Bruce murmurs, nibbling the edge of his ear. “You’re beautiful. You’re stunning.  _ _Breathtaking__. You are incredible, do you know that?”

“Shut the…” Penguin begins, but Bruce then rubs the heads of their cocks, smearing pre-come. “Oh fuck!..”

Bruce doesn’t think about what to say, he doesn’t have to. All those words, Bruce has said it dozens of times: it’s not like there’s many different things people want to hear during hookup. There’s not many different things you can tell to your fling in bed as well. Some compliments, some dirty talk, some sweet talk...

“Fuck, Oswald, it’s not over yet and I already want more. I want you so much,” mutters Bruce in his ear, thrusting hard along his cock. “So good for me, so gorgeous, oh fuck, babe, you’re perfect, so beautiful, I want you to feel so good, fuck, you, it feels so good, I’ve got you…”

Penguin writhes underneath him, gasping for air.

“I’m so close,” Bruce whispers. “I’m gonna come, oh fuck, I can’t, Oswald, you’re so…”

“Kiss me,” Penguin interrupts him, and then adds after a short moment of hesitation: “Please”.

Bruce leans down, licks his lower lip and slides his tongue into Penguin’s open mouth. Penguin moans breathlessly and kisses him back.

In fact, it is one of the worst kisses Bruce has had in his life - messy, greedy, too wet, too fussy. But Penguin is so obviously desperate, overwhelmed, vulnerable,  _ _done__  and on his mercy, and this is enough to push him over the edge.

Bruce comes, hard, and it feels like he’s gonna explode. It feels like a damn strike of a lightning going through his whole body, through every burning and melting nerve.

Orgasm leaves him exhausted and oversensitive, but he keeps rubbing his cock against Penguin’s.

“Bruce,” he calls, unexpectedly startled. “Bruce, oh god, I’m… It’s… What is… Something’s… I think I’m gonna…” and then he collapses beneath Bruce, screaming, back arching, fingers clench around his wrists.

They lay side to side for a minute or two, not saying a word. Penguin’s breath is heavy and uneven and he stares at the ceiling with wide eyes, mouth open. He looks completely shocked and he looks drunk - no, not just drunk. He looks  _skyhigh_.

“Oh god,” mutters Penguin barely audible. “So that’s what it all about. Now I get it”.

He definitely looks like he could use some post-coital cuddling right now, so Bruce moves closer and wraps his hand around his waist. Penguin inhales sharply and tenses for a brief moment, looks at Bruce surprised and confused, and Bruce suddenly feels very, very sober.

Bruce is not stupid. Bruce can put two and two together. But damn, Penguin’s a mob boss or something, he’s pretty rich, at least, and he’s in his late thirties - is it even _possible_ that he has never?..

Maybe Bruce should feel bad about it.

He doesn’t.

In fact, the feels exactly the opposite.

“I think we should set up a rematch,” Bruce says, pressing a soft kiss on his temple. “Are you in?”

Penguin looks at him with mere disbelief: “Do you want to…”

“Yeah,” Bruce nods. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re absolutely gorgeous. As for me, it would be a crime to stop at five minutes of buzzed frottage”.

“I… to be honest, I don’t feel like I capable of… any kind of moving right now,” Penguin says. “Sorry if I…”

Maybe he shouldn’t do it.

Maybe it’s a bad thing to do.

But maybe Bruce doesn’t want to care about it anymore. He tried to be good. He did. He gave up everything for it but failed anyway. He’s had enough.

“Next time, then?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Pls let me know if you want to beta this fic.  
> Comments are also welcome ;)


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